


E is for EMT

by scorpiris



Category: Smallville
Genre: Humor, M/M, alternative universe, emt, paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiris/pseuds/scorpiris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ready for everything, almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	E is for EMT

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of an old fill for CLFF#15 (under Zia). Thank you to Petti and Muse for the beta :)

It's a slow night tonight, a blessing for all hardworking nightshifts everywhere. But slow nights have their catch -- every blessing comes with a curse. The voice from the speakers says "LexCorp Towers", which is where I'm going. The voice currently shouting in my ears says "Drive!", which is what I'm doing (reluctantly). LexCorp Towers is every medical personnel's nightmare. For me, a lowly EMT-1, it's a nightmare that's going to haunt me until the next LexCorp dispatch. Having Wilfred riding with me is a small blessing, at least he has more experience (ten year's worth) with this kind of thing.

"You look petrified," Wilfred snickers at me as he waves at Lou, telling him to save some donuts.

"Any more petrified and you're going to need a new partner," I tell him. I'm serious. I try to keep my eyes on the road, wondering if it'll be all right with Wilfred if I crash into the back of that bus. Once I'm done with this, I'm going to take a good look at the employee's handbook. I'm sure that handling LexCorp emergencies requires a Level 3 certification. I'm going to sue the hospital for negligence. I'm trying to be calm. I really am. I am! Don't know if it's working so far, though. I blame Momma for this. She was the one who wanted me to be a paramedic (like Dad, she said). She was so proud when I survived the first month of training. She wasn't even around to see me complete it. She didn't tell me that being a paramedic involves taking dispatches from the Towers. There's a lot of things that she didn't say. "So, Wils... what kind of hazing is this?" I ask, one eye on the road and the other fixed on Wilfred and his stupid grin. Calm. I can do calm.

"The worst kind. Lex Luthor's injured. Latest news says he's barely conscious." Wilfred notes with a small smirk. I _know_ I'm going to throw up at the next red light. He taps me lightly on my shoulder and delivers his brand of wisdom, "It'll be okay, kiddo. Let's just hope he's unconscious by the time we arrive."

"I hope his partner isn't there." I remember Penny and her horror stories -- stories told from experience. They were told over coffee and cigarette breaks, during equipment checks, in the middle of inventory checks, while decontaminating the ambulance. But most importantly, stories told before I was reassigned to Wilfred's care. Now I get first hand experience. I don't know who to thank. Or more importantly, who to curse, kill, and maim.

Lex's partner is a dark and mysterious presence on television, who morphs into an apparently silent shadow that follows EMTs around whenever there's casualty at the Towers. Dark and foreboding, like haunted castles or deserted swamps. Like being followed around by the Grim Reaper. It's no secret, really: whether it's a low-ranked employee who was injured or some member of the board, Luthor and his partner will always be anxious to know. Anxious to help. Anxious to get everything right. Want. _Must_. The hovering can only get worse when it's Luthor who was the injured party. Substantially worse. _Exponentially worse_. Especially when everybody's conscious, and strung out. Conscious of the press, of the image, of consequences. Let's not mention grim Luthor bodyguards. It's probably better not to start channeling distressed Luthor children.

"Partner? Oh, he's there," Wilfred tells me like it's nothing, as he cranks up the speaker volume. Static and dispatch. "The kids also." Apocalypse. The end of the world as we know it, and I'm driving straight towards it.

There's a windshield and a few meters of asphalt between me and them, and I like to keep it that way. But Wilfred jumps out and yells that I should follow his lead. It doesn't look serious, he says. Luthor is still up and about, he says. Probably nothing a few band-aids can't fix, he says. I think Wilfred is lying.

"Lex, please! You can't drive!" Tall, dark, and handsome is trying to get Lex out of the car, peeling gloved hands off the steering wheel. "The medics are here. You're going to go in the ambulance with them."

"I can drive! I have the license to prove it," Luthor is exactly like what Luthor in the news looks like, although slightly rumpled. I watch as Wilfred jogs over and greets them. I try to stay away as far as possible without actually driving off.

"First time?" A question in my ear. I jump a foot then listen to my heart's protests. I turn my head groggily towards the speaker, vision swimming and breathing ragged. She holds my hand to steady my swaying. "Mercy Graves," she introduces herself, and smiles knowingly.

"Clement... I'm... uh, Clement. Gallagher."

"First time jitters, then? The Luthor reputation precedes him. Come to think of it, Clark's isn't any better. Neither are the kids'." The woman -- sharp and threatening -- shakes her head in amusement and shoves me forward. Keep walking, one foot in front of the other. I can do walking. Mercy Graves looks the type of woman who shoots first and never asks. "He fell down a flight of stairs," she continues. "Tripped on one of the kids' toys. He was unconscious for a while. It'd probably be better for all of us if he had remained unconscious," she muses loudly, and I nod vigorously. "He does what he wants to do." She shrugs and I kneel next to Wilfred, treating a Lex Luthor who is stubbornly rooted in the driver seat of his BMW.

"I heard you, Mercy," Luthor grounds out as Wilfred prods away.

"I know, Boss," Mercy replies. "Clark, I'll take the kids upstairs. Hope can handle the wolves." She turns away and is greeted by loud squeals and apologies and begging and bribery. Anything but upstairs. Anything but away from Daddies. Anything to make Daddy Lex well again. The screaming continues as it fades inside the building, and there's a concerted sigh of relief from almost everyone. I'm still holding my breath.

"Is he okay?" The question is calm and worried at the same time. Someone crouches next to me, and I bet my momma's house I know who he is. But I try to avoid turning and talking to him, just in case. Penny said that he bites heads off when he's stressed.

"I'm still here you know. You can ask me directly. I'm okay, Clark."

"You were unconscious, Lex! At the bottom of the stairs. Were you even breathing?" I glance sideways to see worry and love.

"He's got a nasty concussion, several bruises, some bleeding, and could probably benefit from a night's stay at the hospital," Wilfred cuts in. "And you should wait for the ambulance, Mr. Luthor. Not drive to the hospital."

"Who said anything about driving _to_ the hospital?" Luthor answers icily, swatting Wilfred's prodding fingers. "It's only a minor concussion, not a potential media circus." The last time Luthor was in hospital, I couldn't even park in the usual spot. "I heal fast." I've heard about that too: the Luthor meteor-enhanced freakishly abnormal healing abilities. Not that I'll ever say that out loud this close to the man himself. I want a wife and two kids and a dog. I can't do that from beyond the grave. It's not normal.

"Speaking of the media... Lois is here... um, somewhere."

"Get Hope to shoot her."

"Lex!"

Luthor glares at his partner's exclamation and snarls. He is serious, I can tell. I'll have nightmares about Luthor shooting me, until the end of my days.

"Mr. Luthor, I'm here to take you to the hospital. A night's observation really won't go amiss, just in case there's something more to this than just a concussion." Wilfred tries to coax Luthor out of the car, and he mouths "gurney" to me.

"You're here because Clark called you." Luthor hunkers deeper into his seat, patently refusing to move. "There's nothing here that can't be handled by Toby."

"But Toby is in Australia, remember? Some doctors' conference." There's a heavy sigh, something akin to desperation and defeat.

"We can stay here all night if we need to, Mr. Luthor. Or you can come with us in the ambulance," Wilfred tries again. I can see he's done this a lot of times -- too many times, maybe.

Luthor sighs loudly, like a long-suffering stubborn patient. "You can leave now. Tell your shift supervisor that it's a false alarm. You have my deepest apologies for this inconvenience. The hospital will receive a formal apology from me in the morning, and a suitable compensation for all the trouble." He's talking, and wordy to boot. I don't think there's anything wrong with him. But I don't say. Penny's Golden Rule: Keep quiet and don't draw Luthor's attention to yourself. I'm a good listener and I can follow rules. No problem.

There's a quiet contemplation, like the calm before a great storm. This makes me nervous.

"I suppose... I can call Michelle."

"Who?" I ask, and all eyes turn to me. I squeak, like a rat to a slaughter -- a rat with a big mouth to a slaughter.

"Dr. Michelle Hind. We don't usually call her because Lex can't stand her most times, but..."

"...but she's properly qualified and bearable, when she's not living up to her surname with my father." Luthor looks predatory, brows knitting and venom spitting. Dangerous, even with the neck brace. "Again, terribly sorry for the trouble." He waves his hand, shooing us away. He turns his attention to his partner and motions for comfort.

"You didn't have to call them," Luthor says, absently fingering his neck brace.

"I was so worried. You should see how still you were. I'll show you the security tape footage. You'll see why I called them. Kids are grounded until they're a hundred, by the way. They know better than have toys lying around like that."

I jump into the ambulance and listen to the engines firing up. "So, hazing eh?" I can't help but feel I'm getting off easy this time. There's a deep sense of foreboding. Luthors have "trouble" tattooed on their foreheads, and...

"The duty nurses'll be happy to hear the news, no doubt," Wilfred breaks my line of thought. He grins and whistles to himself as he watches the scene outside the ambulance shift rapidly. "But, there's always next time."

Wilfred's breath creates a round condensed spot on the window. He hums a ditty and listens at the static crackle of the speaker. I drive. That's all I do: drive, not a word until I see the front gate of the hospital. I see Lou riding his bicycle, neon-colored earphones snaking up to his ears; his head bobbing to whatever beat he's listening to. I wave at George, the security guy, and at Annie, a duty nurse on her coffee break.

She's going to be happy when she heard the news. Hurricane Luthor has been averted.

I park in our usual spot and Wilfred can't even wait until the vehicle stops completely. He jumps out and goes in search of donuts. I sit back and rub my eyes. Crisis averted.

"Yo! Clem! Wanna donut?" Wilfred shouts. "Get your ass down here!"

"Nah, I'm okay! Going to get some shut-eye!" I shout back, digging deeper into the driver’s seat. There's always a next time for donuts, or kids with their toys. I wonder how long the Luthor kids stay grounded. Probably not long. I wonder how long before there's another emergency call to the Towers. Probably not long, either. I mean, time does fly a lot faster these days.

===========

There's tapping on my window, and I peel my eyes open. The clock on the dashboard tells me that I must've gotten a few minutes of decent shut-eye. I watch as Wilfred swims into focus. He has donut sugar all over the front of his shirt. He gestures for me to roll the window down. I yank the door open instead. Another call? I want to ask.

"You won't believe it!" Wilfred drags me out of the ambulance, slamming the door close. He drags me to the front lobby with his newly-found, sugar-powered stride.

"Won't believe what? What?" I try my best to keep up.

There's a familiar BMW parked on a disabled spot. Then I spot Luthor at the hospital reception -- neckbrace and fresh clothes, though slightly more bedraggled. His partner is there beside him, carrying a Luthor kid currently bawling her little eyes out -- breath hitching, face red. Next to them, I see the woman from before (Mercy Graves, I think) being consoled by another Luthor kid.

"It's okay, Mercy," the Luthor boy tells her, small hands patting her elbow somewhat soothingly. "It's going to be okay." Obviously words that fall on deaf ears. Wilfred and I inch closer to stand in a growing group of nosy people -- there's Anita, who has just finished her break; a few clinic doctors and some medical students; a few outpatients and some others. We try to look busy, like we actually have some business being there. But we really shouldn't have bothered. Luthor and his merry band of family are probably too un-merry -- too wrapped up -- to notice.

"I swear, Boss." Mercy is disconsolate, quite different from that all-composed, sharp woman from a few hours ago. "I only turned to close the door and..."

The little boy stops his patting and turns to look at Luthor. "You shoulda' seen her, Daddy Lex! She swallowed the two-by-four _and_ the red door! And if it wasn't for Mercy, she would've swallowed the spruce tree too! So, you see? It's not Mercy's fault! Not _really_."

"Clark. Please tell me he's talking about Legos."

"You know he is, Lex."

"I just need to be reminded every now and again."

-fin-


End file.
